We have eggs, no thanks to the Electoral College!

We didn’t get any eggs the day after the election. Annie was upset about the outcome.

Annie is my wife’s “little red hen” and she lays an egg a day, like clockwork. She’s a Hyline Brown and she produces big, brown, rich eggs that make the tastiest omelets. Then there’s Cleo, a nonwhite Leghorn. As a breed the Leghorns lay fewer eggs than the Hylines, and theirs are white and a little smaller.

Because of her normal industriousness, it was unusual that Annie did not leave a large oval treasure in the egg box on Wednesday when my wife went to check.

“She’s upset about the election,” Mrs. Rice said. “She can’t believe America elected Donald Duck.”

She thinks we elected a duck? I asked.

“That’s what she said. She was really pulling for Hillary. It may be some time before she gets over it.”

Imagine my surprise. I didn’t realize that Annie was a Democrat, but when you stop to think about it, it just makes sense. Single working lady, shares a place with a roommate, not much opportunity for advancement in for her line of work. One thing’s for sure, she doesn’t have to worry about income gender inequality – we don’t have a rooster and if we did he couldn’t lay an egg anyway.

Did you explain to Annie that we both voted for Clinton? I asked.

“Yes, but she says she feels betrayed by the party. She says there’s no real passion in the party any more, and I think she’s right. So we may not get eggs for a while.”

Wait, did you see the faces of all those kids Tuesday night when the late returns were coming in? That was pure grief!

“That was the emotion of the moment. They’d worked hard for something. Of course they were grieving. But what about the party leaders? And who are the party leaders?”

Well, she had me stumped there. I had to Google the national committee to find Donna Brazile, and I’m embarrassed to say I don’t even know how to pronounce her name. Is is BRAY-zile? Brah-ZEE-lay? Or just brah-ZILL? I dunno.

“My point exactly,” my wife said.

You mean Annie’s point, don’t you?

“Whatever.”

It’s still a valid point. Soon all three branches of our government will be entirely controlled by conservatives, and we liberals have no one to blame but ourselves. The Democratic Party used to be the party of the young and excited, but I now realize that we began relinquishing the youth of politics to the Republicans many years ago.

When we didn’t get any eggs on Thursday either I asked my wife if maybe there wasn’t something else going on in the henhouse.

“Annie says they’re both holding out unless the Electoral College does the right thing and elects Hillary,” she said.

Wait, chickens know about the electoral college?

“Don’t be so surprised. You’re the one who put the TV in the henhouse. I’ve always said you’re spoiling them.”

But they were just supposed to watch CSPAN, I said, to keep them calm. I figured they’d like the pretty moving images but there wouldn’t be any real content.

“Yeah, well, they discovered PBS and started watching ‘Democracy Now!’ so I guess that kind of backfired, didn’t it?”

Egad, I exclaimed, I hope they don’t discover Fox News. The name alone will give them heart attacks!

My wife shot me an impatient look.

When there weren’t any eggs again on Friday, I knew drastic action was needed. I was getting tired of oatmeal for breakfast. I took the TV out of the henhouse and added extra ground corn to the feeder. Annie watched me with those sidelong glances chickens give you when they’re curious about what you’re doing but don’t want to look like they care. By Sunday we had eggs again. I told my wife that it appeared chickens had short memories.

“Don’t be so sure,” my wife said. “Annie told me to thank you for the corn, but she wants to know if they can have the TV back.”

Why? The news will just upset them.

“I guess Cleo is upset now because she wants to see how ‘Dancing With The Stars’ turns out.”

Chickens watch reality TV?

“Cleo does. Annie said she doesn’t watch that crap.”

Aha, well, a little red hen with discriminating tastes in television. Great. So, what does she do while Cleo’s watching DWTS, I asked.

My wife looked at me as if I were an alien from some unnamed planet, and shook her head. “She Facebooks, of course!”

Oh, of course. Silly of me.

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